


Jewel'd Scarab

by TheMulletWhisperer



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Morag Tong, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Thieves Guild, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-05-01 14:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: Tavyliah, agent of the Morag Tong and native of Vvardenfell is thrust into an unfamiliar world after the destruction of the Solstheim chapter of the Tong. Tasked with the eradication of the Dark Brotherhood, she joins with the Thieves Guild, entangling herself in much more than her original mission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey let's all play a game called "Guess who the fuck can't finish a basic fucking multi-chapter story and instead makes a new one because he's hopeless and lets everyone down in his life and wishes every day for death", here's a hint, that person is me, you guessed it. Help. 
> 
> Anyway here's this shit, I'm experimenting with a first-person style, if you don't like it let me know in the comments and I'll go back to third person in the upcoming chapters.
> 
> Also I wouldn't expect any recent updates to this unless some lighting strikes me and somehow miraculously doesn't mercifully end my life. I'll try though. I promise. I probably won't succeed by I'll try.

My pendant strikes cold against my chest, trapped between by the dark chitin plate and rough fabric of my undershirt. Every outline and depression in the coarse stone of the double-sided scarab makes its indent in my dark flesh, branding me temporarily in the name of my home, my people. So much is cold on the island, more so than Vvardenfell, even as the refuse from Red Mountain blots out the sun. I always hated Solstheim, but now, without the great cities… well, I prefer not to think about it.

As I pass through the bulwark of Raven Rock, the wind whips at my cloak and the thick ash cakes oppressively on my mask and goggles, the dying sunlight filtered gray only barely cracking the sheet of ash that carried on the storm winds. There were few people on the streets, most huddled in their homes or in the taverns, avoiding the unpleasantness of the gale. Even the guards remained in shelter, beneath overhangs or merchant’s stalls. My timing couldn’t have been better.

I trace the beaten path to the outskirts of the city, a home belonging once to our late benefactor. My habit compels me to send a cursory glance over my shoulder, though it catches nothing of interest as I produce my pick and wrench to crack the lock. The current resident is no fool, her fresh lock crafted by a foreign smith, unfamiliar to the denizens of Dunmeri territory. I, however, am no mere townsman. In seconds, the lock clicks and yields to my insistent fingers. Pressing my palm to the frigid surface of the steel door, I push it open only so slightly, the well-oiled hinges sliding along one-another without a noise. Through the crack, I slip into the abode, carefully replacing the door into its frame as my back foot lays against stone floor. 

The inside of the manor is dark, the soft glow of a dying fire in the foyer only barely illuminating that which surrounds it, casting long shadows over the threshold. An uninvited guest in the home, my anticipation spreads warmly through my body, though I’ve been no stranger to these transgressions in the past. Carefully, I remove my ashen mask and goggles, breathing in the freshness of the inside air. It takes barely a second for me to stow them in my netch-leather bag before I begin to get my bearings.

Somewhere below, beyond the yawning maw of the staircase that leads deeper into the manor, the sound of voices meet my ears, the two women who occupy the home still making their nighttime conversation. Flickering candlelight illuminates my way down, beckoning me closer to the voices. Dropping myself to a low position, I follow on, careful of my footsteps.

The voices grow closer as I descend, my foot meeting the stone-tiled floor of the corridor that branches into three rooms--two on either side and one lying directly in my path. It doesn’t take me much time to deduce the source of the chatter, as the robed woman stands with her back to me, speaking with some unseen--but not unknown--second party. My fists clench and I square my shoulders, preparing myself for whatever may come my way. Far from a fool, I duck into one of the side rooms to wait out the banal conversation. As I had suspected, the room is decorated as if a museum to depravity. Trophies from past kills adorn pedestals and walls, preserved organs in glass boxes and bloodied, broken blades charting exactly which weapons she’d used on which contract.  Directly in the center of the far wall, illuminated by a blood-red flame and supported on a table scattered with Nightshade is a sterling silver statuette of the sick deity--the puppet by which my lady controlled the castaways--the Night Mother, backed by a blood red banner stained with a black handprint.

My focus on the room’s contents tore my attention away from the conversation in the other room, and, as I wrestled my mind back to the present, I noticed the abrupt silence. Turning sharply, I pressed myself against the cold wall, peeking around the corner and listening for the footsteps that grew louder by the moment. My body tensed for a fight and my chest tightened as they paused in the corridor, before it relaxed as they took the divergent path into the other room. 

Affording myself more slack, I glance further around the corner, my rival preparing something in the kitchen. As much as ever, now is my chance, rounding the corner and approaching the opposite doorway. Whoever had been the second party in the conversation didn’t seem to be within sight, giving me everything I need to make this quick and clean. 

I slip behind the woman, poising myself to finish what was started. In a split second, I push forward and grab her by the top of her head and the ridge of her jaw, her hands flying up to my arms for a mere moment before I snap her neck with expert precision, the sickening--yet all too familiar crack muffled by my chest pressed flush against the shorter woman’s spine. 

Carefully, I lower her to the floor, affording her what dignity she refused to her victims and laying her at peace. I cross her arms over her chest and place my index and long finger on her forehead, whispering as if the wind to myself and her soul, “Mephala carry your soul, Muthsera.” I part my fingers and slide them down her face, shutting her wide-open eyes. My writ, however, has yet to be completed, as I dip my hands into her pockets to search. My efforts pay off as I reach into her lapel and produce a letter sealed in a dark red wax. 

“My thane?” The voice of a Nordic woman calls from the other room, likely asking after the body that lay lifeless on the floor. Storing the letter in my bag, I bring back the goggles and mask, tying them to my face. In a rush, I depart the home, ascending the stairs once again and unlocking the door from the inside--just in time to hear the second party scream. 

 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

As I settle into the hard cot below the deck of the  _ Northern Maiden _ , I pop the seal of the letter, my crimson eyes flitting over the handwritten text.

 

_ Assassin, _

_ They’ve grown bolder, they threaten our prospects. Do what you must to eliminate them. Motierre can wait.  _

_ \-  A _

 

It gives me little to go on, but the Grandmaster has given me a task. The Brotherhood must be dealt with, for the future of the Morag Tong and for the service of Mephala. I re-fold the letter and place it carefully in an unused pocket of my bag, withdrawing the token within in turn. As I turn it over in my hand, my eyes land on the engraved name:  _ “Mallory”.  _

A good place to start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay look at this I made something.
> 
> Big thanks to Luned for the encouragement and inspiration for this! :D

I stepped off the boat several days later. The transition from rocky, tumultuous sea to hard stone throwing my perceptions. Although I nearly vomited, I contained the bitter acid rising in my throat and placed my other foot onto the snowy, iced-over cobblestones of the docks. To say I had no idea where I was would have been an understatement. Skyrim was a foreign land to me, the fresh, crisp, biting winter air providing a jarring shift from the suffocating ash of Vvardenfell. Those rotting wooden docks missing planks, populated only by skooma-addled transients seemed a million miles away in the face of a dock bustling with workers and fishermen. Already, I felt alien, catching countless odd looks from the townspeople--no doubt due to my attire. 

As I continued further along the docks, the crunch of snow under my boots provided a comforting similarity to that of the ash plains of my home. Though the wind whipped in my ears, it brought with it a fresh gust rather than a coarse grit, the all-too-familiar cold stinging my exposed ears. My mid-length, sable hair was braided back and tucked into the collar of my armor, a protective mechanism that came now as second nature. 

Although I had somewhat gained my bearings, I still had no idea where I was or how to get to this ‘Mallory’, and it was sure as hell not going to be as easy as asking after someone in Balmorra. I approached the first guard I laid eyes on, his storm-blue sash and coppery scale armor drawing my gaze to him. “Excuse me, sera?” I shouted over the din of the docks, my broad accent cutting through the usual chatter.

The man turned his attention away from the group of Argonian dockworkers he’d been watching and locked his eyes on me from beneath his face-concealing helmet, the only visible part of his face his dull, amber eyes. “What is it, gray skin?” He spat at me after a long look, his eyes crinkling into a sneer. 

The rudeness and casual hatred in his voice threw me more than I’d expected it to, stunning me into silence for a good few seconds before I spoke up again, “Which way is it to… Rif-teen?” I asked, the confidence I’d hoped to project dying in my throat as I butchered the name of the unfamiliar city, drawing more than a couple of odd looks--not least of which from the guard himself.

“Wonderful.” He muttered to himself, only barely perceptible to my naturally enhanced hearing. “I’m not a fucking tour guide.” He raised his voice to speak to me again, this time a slight hint of exasperation creeping into his voice, “Go talk to Alfarinn at the stables, he’s got a carriage.” He paused and looked over what he could see of me through my bulky chitin plate, the smoky coloring making it nigh-on impossible to make out anything underneath. Still, this didn’t seem to stop his leering gaze that sent the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. “For some coin.” He added, a hint of innuendo now in his voice. “If you ain’t got any, I’m sure someone in the Gray Quarter could find use for that pretty little mouth.” His slimy grin was obvious even from beneath his helmet as one of his visible eyebrows quirked.

Inhaling the crisp air deeply, I drew myself up taller. “Mephala preserve me.” I muttered, having to actively force myself not to snap the man’s neck. Honorable Writs had no pull in this backward land, and my mission could well have been over before it started, had I given in to the impulse. “Thank you, sera!” I choked out a cheery voice and continued on my way, protectively drawing my cloak nearer to my body. I still had to contend with several problems, not least of which being my entirely too conspicuous armor. While I trusted the average resident of Skyrim to recognize the signature of the Morag Tong, I couldn’t be so sure that my targets wouldn’t notice and scuttle the ship, so to speak. 

I passed through the streets, bleak shadows cast from the overcast sky making the city even  _ look _ cold. The sound of ice scraping against stone filled my ears as the tides came in from the Sea of Ghosts, and the howling wind carried sounds for miles. An army recruiter, ringing his bell and soliciting any passing men and women, an Argonian fishmonger trying to sell her wares before they went bad. Human children playing in the streets. It was all so foreign, a busy and noisy fortress that the citizens navigated with the same familiarity as I did the barren, ash-covered plains of my home. 

I climbed the stairs and crossed beyond the threshold of the large steel gate into the city proper. The streets I now stood in were comparatively deserted, the din of the docks now seeming a million miles from the dark, dingy alleyways filled with Dunmer. Their clothes were ragged, most looked as if they’d gone days without food, and some carried the signs of a beating. And yet, none looked indignant, none looked surprised, as if this were the usual. To see my kin living in such conditions wrenched my heart, but there was nothing I could do about it. Not now. Not when a mission as important as mine stood in the way.

A nearby Dunmer, a friendly-looking fellow, directed me to a shop on my request, a quaint place by the name of  _ ‘Sadri’s Used Wares’.  _ It was, just as the other buildings in the district, filthy and damaged. Nonetheless, it was the fastest way to get out of my gear and into something less conspicuous. I pushed through the marked wooden door, the musty smell hitting me nearly instantly. As I shut the door behind me, the sharp cold was supplanted by a stifling humidity. Two completely different weather systems in a single city.

“Welcome to Sadri’s Used Wares, the… oh, you. Great. What’re you looking for? Got my clothes in the back.” The Dunmer seemed to know who I was--or at least why I was there. “Your Grandmaster sent word ahead. I’m supposed to ‘give you whatever you want’. S’wit.” He muttered, the insult sending anger flaring in my chest--an anger I knew not to act on. 

“Yes, I need clothes. Something that doesn’t mark me.” I forced a smile and a friendly tone, unclasping my cloak and hanging it on the rack by the door. I approached the counter, splaying my hands over the surface and staring at the shopkeep expectantly.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. They’re in the back, you deaf? Get what you want and fuck out, I got real customers to deal with.” It seemed he and I came to the same conclusion as we looked around the dusty, empty store in unison. Several seconds of silence passed before he looked back to me, “Fuck’s sake, get something already!” He shouted at me, his voice echoing off the empty walls.

“Right, right, I’m going.” I couldn’t help but snicker as I pushed up off the counter and headed to the back. To say there were clothes there was an understatement. There were enough clothes to suffocate a Hlaalu and still clothe the entirety of Vvardenfell. Spoiled for choice, I was.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Nearly an hour passed as I tried on clothes, Sadri growing more and more impatient. About halfway through, he’d quieted down suspiciously. I was sure we weren’t going to get along well when I had to threaten to remove his eyes to get him to stop spying on me. His whining only grew louder after that.

Eventually, however, I found what I wanted, reverently folding my gear and slipping it into my home-sewn bag, clipping the ebony clasps back into place and stepping back out into the store proper.

I’d picked out what looked both good and inconspicuous: A soft, brown vest over a long-sleeved white tunic that clung comfortably to my arms and chest, a pair of well-fitting trousers that matched the vest in color, a pair of black felt gloves, and knee-high, gaited boots. I reached up to the back of my head and secured my braid beneath the collar of my shirt, rolling my shoulders back and getting a feel for the new outfit. Although it was certainly a shift, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“You look great,” Sadri said without even looking up from a box of assorted items, “Now get out, unless you want to rob me of something else.” He rummaged through the box, searching for something inside.

I began to head for the door, but paused, turning back to face him. “Have you got a blade?” I reached into my bag and wrapped my covered fingers around the rough leather sheath resting at the bottom, its rough edges scraping against my gloves. 

“Fuckin’ Azura…” He pushed the box aside, grumbling minced oaths to himself as he produced a small crate full of poorly-organized weapons. Nothing too fancy, but nothing that wouldn’t get the job done. I dug through the box, deliberating on which I’d rather have, before picking out a short silver dagger, the blade that tapered off into a fine point no longer than my forearm, but still sharp and deadly. I set the weapon down on the counter and produced the sheathe from my bag, dropping down to one knee and fastening it around my calf. I deliberated on the placing, admittedly unpracticed with an actual weapon. Deciding not to press my time, I gave up on trying to figure out what to do and simply shoved the blade into its new home on my leg, once again collecting my things. 

“Thank you, muthsera. Mephala guide you.” I nodded my head, to which he returned only a derisive snort, waving me away. “Rather rude.” I muttered to myself, turning on my heel and pushing out into the cold. 

“...Lovely.” I stared out at the open streets as freezing rain poured from the skies and hammered the ground hard. There was no way I was going out into the downpour, I’d be dead before I left the district. Resigning myself, I took a seat in the corner of the storefront beneath the outcrop, pulling a wool blanket from my bag and wrapping myself in it.

Within moments, I’d drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how the writing quality degraded at the end there. I ran out of the writing juice. Also I'm not good at mixing dialogue with action so that's also probably something.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow holy shit is the sky falling in I just updated a work a day after the last update I have to call my real estate agent because I hear hell has hit record lows in temperature.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, all I knew was that I might as well have frozen to death. I found it difficult to open my eyes as the wind whipped at my hair and nipped at my ears. The blanket I was using to keep myself warm had found itself buried under a thick sheet of snow. Slowly, my teeth chattering, I rose to my feet and shook the blanket off, wrapping it around my shoulders to add another layer to my person. Even through the wool, the cloak, and my new used clothing, the wind still chilled me straight to the bone.

  
Fortunately for me, the rain had cleared up.  _ Un _ fortunately for me, a raging blizzard had taken its place, reducing the late evening visibility to next to none. Low visibility, I could deal with. The temperature, not so much. Still, I had a mission, and I’d be no good to anyone if I spent my entire time in Skyrim huddled in the corner of a storefront. I pulled up my hood, fastening it securely in place and drawing the blanket around him. As I took a deep breath of the icy air, I stepped out into the gale, soft powder catching on my eyebrows and dark lips almost immediately. 

Shivering more than the Isles, I pulled my goggles on and took an educated guess, following the fresh footprints left by the patrolling guards. Compounded with the darkness, and the wind having blown out any fires and torches meant to light the city, the blizzard stifled my vision and immersed me in a near pitch-black, illuminated only by lamps protected by glass. 

I stepped out into the city proper--a new sight for me, but empty, similar to the district I’d come from--undoubtedly thanks to the storm. Drawing the layers closer around me, I descended the stairs, pausing several times to avoid slipping on the frozen water coating the steps. Ahead of me was a tavern, the only place I’d heard any noise other than brutal wind from since I stepped out into the storm, and to my side was a large gate--undoubtedly the exit.

Checking my coinpurse, I… couldn’t find it. I checked again, patting myself down, before realizing  what had likely happened. “Bloody urchins!” I shouted, kicking a snowdrift. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screamed into the wind, the exasperation of the journey catching up with me. “Fuck this crumbling hole!” I drew in a stinging breath through my nose, arching my back and shutting my eyes in hopes of regaining my composure. “Stables. Right.” I resumed my journey, wading through ankle-high snow across the guarded bridge, pausing each time I reached an archway to catch my breath and warm up next to the braziers. 

Eventually, I reached the stables. The cart driver was nowhere to be seen, his horse left to freeze in the cold while he undoubtedly drank his troubles away in the tavern. Seeing my opportunity, I approached the cart, stroking the horse’s snow-dusted fur and pulling my blanket off my shoulders, instantly wincing as the deathly cold cut right through my cloak. Still, I pressed on, throwing the blanket over the poor creature’s back. I’d never ridden one of the things before, they tended to be a mainland commodity, but it couldn’t have been much different than riding a guar. I hoped.

I began searching the saddlebags tied to the cart, some of it the owner’s, some of it his patron’s, and all of it mine for the taking. Aside from a few loaves of hardtack and some dried, salted meat, the only thing of interest I found was map that charted the roads. A cursory glance told me where I needed to start my journey, while the rest would have to wait until I could get out of the gods-forsaken snow.

Pulling the saddle from the cart’s rack, I laid it over the blanket and secured it in place, unlashing the creature from the carriage and placing my foot in the stirrup, hoisting myself onto its back and getting comfortable on the seat. I made a quick check of my bag to be certain I’d remembered anything before I pressed into the beast’s sides, warming it up with a slow walk before cracking the reins and breaking into a trot. 

The horse and I travelled for some time down the south road, following the twists and turns of the beaten path. Some time in the night, the blizzard had let up, but the cold was still as vicious as ever. Eventually, I sensed the poor animal’s exhaustion to mirror my own growing exposure injury. Pulling back on the reins, I surveyed the area, my eyes landing eventually on an outcrop in the distance. I steered the horse toward the rocks and left it beneath the outcrop, lashed to a nearby sapling while I searched for wood. With the recent rainstorm, finding anything sufficient was difficult, but the mountainous terrain afforded enough cover that I could collect enough for a small fire. 

With a practiced hand, I arranged the wood and pulled my gloves off, rubbing my hands together to warm them up before holding them out to the fire pit. I shut my eyes and concentrated, one palm laid over the other. The characteristic warmth of a small flame shortly heated my palm, my Dunmeri blood at work. I pulled my hand away as the fire danced across to its fuel, beginning to crackle within moments. Satisfied, I sat cross-legged in front of the flame and pulled my bag around to rest in my lap, digging around inside. Both myself and the horse needed food for the journey ahead.  I had packed well enough, but most of my supplies had disappeared into my stomach on the boat trip. Now, all I had left was a half-jar of scrib jelly, some ash yams, and a bundle of scathecraw for seasoning. Hoping it was sufficient, I produced the yams and approached the horse, sweeping away the snow and laying them on the ground. It wasn’t exactly a meal, but he seemed happy enough to eat them.

I, on the other hand, had more of a choice. After much deliberation, I selected the jelly and the dried meat I’d taken from the cart, dipping the latter into the former. It was a spartan meal, fit for a survivalist and little else, but it put food in my stomach and gave me a bit of extra strength.

Almost an hour passed as I ate and warmed up before I decided I needed to sleep. The roads were too dangerous, and the cold had worn down more of my stamina than I’d thought. Sympathetic to its needs, I removed the saddle from the horse and placed it on a nearby rock, idly patting its back before returning to the fire. I removed my bag and placed it on the ground, unclasping my cloak and using it to cover myself as I slept. Perhaps it hadn’t been a regular occurance in my life, but life on Vvardenfell was much more difficult than anything the Nords had ever experienced. Adaptation was necessary, and survival came as second nature.

Rocks, though? Rocks were not good beds, as I would find later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> living hurts

I groaned as I awoke, pushing the cloak off onto the ground and rubbing my eyes. The first thing I felt was the pain in my back, and the next the ruthless chill of the Eastmarch mountains. The fire had died overnight, left only with a few smoldering embers. I pushed a small pile of snow over it and stumbled up to my feet, gathering my cloak and clasping it once again over my shoulders. I turned my attention to my steed, the horse who’d spent likely a miserable night in the cold, though it seemed to still be standing, if nothing else. 

I approached the animal, patting it on the neck and wincing at the cold of its fur. “Don’t worry, boy. It’s just a few more hours to Riften and we’ll get you warmed up, yeah?” I grabbed the saddle from the rock I’d left it on the night before, tossing it over the horse’s back and fastening it to the creature. After I’d double checked my supplies, I placed a foot in the stirrups and mounted once again, tugging on the reins and beginning on my way.

  
  


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

True to my word, the uneventful ride to Riften took only a few more hours, though my horse didn’t seem to much appreciate it. The unforgiving, frigid north had given way to a temperate, golden autumn, the once-intense wind now lightly rustling the leaves of the sodden trees overhead, saturated by the cold, autumn rain. The footfalls of my steed muffled themselves on the damp soil, the sounds of its breathing constituting the only noise from a living creature I’d heard since the storm began. 

The rain soaked my cloak, seeping through to my hair but leaving my vest and blouse otherwise untouched. My trousers, on the other hand, were a different story. The fabric had begun to cling tightly to my legs, exacerbating the chafing of the long ride. Nonetheless, I was no stranger to discomfort in my travels and I was hardly one to complain, so I marched on in silence with the creature below me.

As I crested the hill, the soft orange glow of the lantern that hung beneath the gate arch cut through the bleak, gloomy atmosphere of the sky, catching my crimson eye. Eagerly, I dismounted my horse and took in my hand his reins, my thighs begging me to leave the beast. Across the sodden ground I led the creature by hand, the mulchy sounds of the soil’s carpet giving way to the soft clicking of leather on cobblestone. I first brought my horse to his shelter, leaving him in an empty stable and lashing the reins to a nearby post. As he nudged my hand insistently, I could offer only a stroke of his nose, “I know, I know. You’ve not had your meal, I apologize. I will return soon with it, yes?” I patted him again, meeting his soft eyes for a moment before turning to enter the city proper. 

At the gate, the guards didn’t seem to much mind my entrance, though one of them shot me an odd look from behind his helmet. Though he said nothing, it was obvious that I was out of place for a province of Nords. Ignoring him, I continued through, passing the propped-open gates and surveying the entry from beneath the shelter of the arch. Riften was an odd little city, striking me as both regal and rundown in the same breath. The familiar smell of fish wafted to me, accompanied not by fresh salt air, but by the stench of sewage. My only guess to its source was the canal that appeared to run through the center of the city. In an attempt to appear normal, I pressed the back of my hand to my nose as subtly as I could, beginning forward once again, desperate to get indoors for any number of reasons. 

“Elf.” A voice caught me off guard as I passed the first house. The man’s rough voice put me on edge as I tracked my eyes to meet him. Whoever he was, it was obvious he wasn’t one to be fucked with. He drew his stance tall and his shoulders remained squared, projecting an image that intimidated even me. His face was rough and unshaven, his hair unkempt and halfheartedly tied back into a knot. “I haven’t seen you around here before.” He continued, pushing up from his rest on the balcony’s stilt. “You here to cause trouble?” 

I blinked rapidly, furrowing my brow at the odd question. “I’m simply here to meet an acquaintance.  _ Hopefully _ I will just be passing through.” I answered back to him, shifting my hand to more efficiently block the foul odors from my senses. 

“Yeah? Well how about you and your acquaintance take it somewhere else. The Black Briars don’t need some outsider sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong.” The man drew himself into a more robust stance, striking me as aggressive and sending adrenaline rushing through my body, though I refused to act on what my brain was telling me. 

“I’m hardly even certain who these ‘Black Briars’ are, let alone am I trying to stick my nose in their business.” I fell back on a defensive tone, tilting my chin up at him in an attempt to rival his intimidation, though the hand glued to my face diluted my attempts. 

“The Black Briars have Riften in their pocket and the Brotherhood at their back, so stay out of their way. Me, I’m Maul. I watch the streets for ‘em. You need dirt, I’m your guy, but it’ll cost you.” He launched into his sales pitch, though he had me hooked the moment he mentioned the Brotherhood. This could possibly be my first lead, and I wasn’t about to let that go to waste. 

“Dirt, eh? I’m afraid I’ve no money, though I’m certain we could work something out.” My poor choice of words escaped me for the briefest of moments before a predatory smile crossed the man’s face and realization crossed mine.   


“Well well, aren’t you the eager one? What say we go back into that alley and…  _ work something out _ .” He leaned forward, his implication obvious. I, on the other hand, was not willing to debase myself in such a way, and I was hardly eager to give myself away to a gutter Nord. 

My mind raced as I attempted to work out a response to him, before I finally settled on a simple nod. Maul’s grin widened to split his face as he ducked into the alley to his left, sending the nearby guard away with a wave of his hand. That would be only his first mistake of the morning. I followed after him, leaving my blade in its sheath for the time being. 

“Here we are, then. Why don’t you take that” he motioned to my vest and blouse “off and show me your coins.” Maul seemed pleased at his disgracefully bad innuendo, and I had to keep myself from cringing.

I dropped my hand from my face and pushed the rancid stench from my mind, untying the twine from my vest and hanging it on an empty lamp peg wedged between the cobblestones of the wall. I tugged on the top lace of my blouse, letting the collar fall open to expose my dark collarbone. The smile on the man’s face stopped growing, however, as I stopped. “You’ll see more once you tell me what I want to know.” 

Maul stared at me in contemplation for a good several seconds before he shifted awkwardly. I knew at that moment I had him right where I wanted him. “Fine. What do you want?” His voice carried a tone of irritation, but his eyes were glued to my collarbone and below. 

“My questions are two. Firstly, what do you know of the Dark Brotherhood. Secondly, where might I find Delvin Mallory?” I took a deep breath through my mouth, desperately trying to keep from breathing in anything through my nose while simultaneously attempting a straight face. Neither worked too well, but luckily, he wasn’t paying much attention to my face.

“Some people are saying the Brotherhood had something to do with the death of that lady at the orphanage, Grelod or whatever. They haven’t really been making any moves since, though, at least not that I know of. As for Mallory, my brother Dirge works with him. Go through the Ratway, you’ll figure it out. Now, get out of--” As he began his last sentence I stepped forward, grabbing him by the jaw and forehead and pushing back as hard as I could, cracking his skull against the side of the house. With a sigh of relief, I lowered him gently to the ground and checked his breathing. Satisfied, I tied my blouse back and pulled my vest on once again, returning to the main road. 

As the sounds and pungent smells of the city filtered back  to my senses, I took a breath to calm myself, barely breaking stride in hopes of seeming unsuspicious. I wasn’t used to leaving people alive who’d seen my face, but killing him wasn’t necessary, and the heat his death would bring wasn’t worth it. At least not yet. 

I crossed the bridge that connected the two sides of the canal, the smell overpowering my mind and making my eyes water. Still, I soldiered through to the other side, passing by a couple arguing about a shipment and nearly falling through the door to the quaint little tavern before me. Never before had I been so glad to smell sweaty Nords and mead in my life. 

I took the nearest seat I could, breathing deeply the smells of not-sewage as I recollected my thoughts. Thanks to the dirty old man, I had my first lead on the Brotherhood, though the clock was ticking until they learned of their assassin’s death. No doubt they would retaliate against the Tong. My target still remained the same: Delvin Mallory. Perhaps he could shed more light on the Brotherhood and these Black Briars. 

And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to walk back outside. Flagging down the muscled Argonian, I sent for a flask of their strongest. If I was to walk the canals, I would need drink deep inside of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was so shit, I'm trying to push through a massive, gelatinous block of fuck with this story because I really want to finish it. Basically I had to force myself to write. Also I'm in about 20 different types of pain so that's fun. Hopefully the next one won't be so shit!
> 
> Also, a reminder! This work was inspired by Luned's "Birdsong", it's significantly less shit than this and I wish I could write as many words as her without my entire soul seeping from my fucking eyes. Check it out!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow hey guys did you know that I'm still (barely) alive and that I've been writing for the most part and not just sitting around licking the floors like I usually do? 
> 
> This is about as timely as a baby and about as easy to put out, but fucked if I didn't do it. This chapter is about 5k words which will be my benchmark for future chapters, which will hopefully take less time than this chapter did.
> 
> Enjoy this, it'll probably be the only one for a year.
> 
> Again, and I'm beating a dead horse here, thank you to Luned for the tips on writing these monster chapters. I wish I had the pacing skills that she has. Check out [Birdsong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814063) if you haven't already, it's what inspired this piece of garbage!

I awoke some time later in a dark room, only a candle rested upon the night table to light it. I didn’t remember much of what had happened the previous night, though the absence of a splitting headache told me that I hadn’t been drunk for certain. I blinked several times and swung my legs over the side of the bed, running my hands over my face and once again taking in the room. The smell told me that I was still somewhere in the tavern, but the chatter and general noise had been replaced by the amicable conversations of the Argonians below. 

_ “I can’t believe I let down my guard around those fucking lizards.”  _ I kicked myself mentally for my stupidity. It wasn’t much of a secret in Morrowind that the Argonians hated us, and I couldn’t imagine it was any different now. And that’s just how I liked it. Though they were integral in the destruction of the false regime of the New Tribunal, they were also responsible for the deaths and violations of countless innocent Dunmeri people. Even hundreds of years later, elves still remained who knew of their atrocities. I didn’t intend to become one of those statistics.

I slid off the bed and took stock of my state. I seemed to be fully clothed and the only pain radiated from the chafing of my thighs from the long ride, but that was quickly fading, meaning it had yet to be irritated. While my hair was still damp, most of it seemed to have dried well before I was taken to this room, judging by the dryness of the pillow. I was lucky, as there seemed to have been no violation of myself. Still, dropping my guard in a tavern was a huge mistake, and one I didn’t intend to repeat. 

I grabbed my bag and pulled it open, searching through the contents. From my cursory examination, everything seemed to be there, though it had all been jostled around a bit, meaning someone likely rooted through it while I was out. That didn’t sit right with me, and I was sure I knew who did it. Wrapping the bag’s strap around my wrist, I went to push through the door only to be stopped by a note pinned to the inside. The handwriting was legible, at the very least, but rather messy. 

Reaching up, I took the edge between my thumb and forefinger and pulled it down, laying it in my palm and reading it over.  _ “Friend, I am sorry we had to move you. You passed out after your first drink and you looked tired. I couldn’t find any gold on you, so I decided to move you to a room so you might rest. We will call the debt forgiven. If you wish for a meal, please, come see Keevara and I downstairs.”  _ I nodded slowly as I processed what was laid before me. A faint pang of shame clawed at the inside of my chest, but I tamped it down, rationalizing that I wasn’t wrong to fear. 

I felt the tension bleed from my shoulders and I set the note down on the night table and the bag on a nearby chair, plucking some pins from the front pocket and sitting down on the edge of the bed. I had to admit, it was nice to sleep on a real bed again, and the knots in my back had seemingly worked themselves out. Even though it wasn’t the most comfortable, it was better than the floor of a cave. 

I gathered up my loose hair and pulled it to the side, separating it and beginning to lay in a simple braid. Ultimately, I found, the style was simple enough to wear while also looking damn good on me. I placed several pins in and produced the band I kept in my pocket, tying off the knot and slinging the braid over my shoulder so that it rested against my left breast. 

Taking a deep breath, I stood once again, gathering my things and tucking the note into the front pocket of my bag along with various other bits of garbage I kept lying around. As I shouldered the bag, I took a moment to gather my thoughts and listen to the sounds about me. The rain that had accosted me on my way to the city had only become worse, the torrential downpour hammering against the window panes and thunder screaming through the sounds of the water. Either I would risk pneumonia, or I would wait out the storm.

Opting to decide later, I pulled back the door’s deadbolt and pushed the rough pine exit open, the rusted, second-hand hinges creaking quietly as stress was put upon them once again. I stepped out into the hallway, surveying the closed doors and checking my surroundings out of some combination of paranoia and instinct. Once certain I was safe, I made for the stairs down, the soft glow of the torches casting warm shadows across the walls of the stairwell. 

As I stepped out into the main room of the tavern, the shift in smells was instant, the scents of mead and fresh food filling the room and overtaking my senses. It had been some time since I’d smelled something so inviting. Even the taverns on Vvardenfell carried with them the smell of lingering Blight and ash. 

“Ah, our guest awakens!” The woman behind the bar spoke up in her raspy voice, a hint of mild irritation carrying with it. “My husband has stepped out, but he told me to feed you if you need it.” The Argonian produced three loaves of bread and a bundle of dried beef. Not exactly a king’s banquet. “You look like a traveler, so here’s something fit for one.” It wasn’t entirely obvious if she was being passive-aggressive or not, thanks to the rather odd inflections of the lizards. Nonetheless, I appreciated it, as she’d guessed correctly.

I approached the bar and took the offered food, grinning apprehensive at the Saxheel. “Thank you. I am sorry I have nothing to pay with.” My voice was tense, unconsciously so, but I could hardly help it around Argonians. She responded only with a soft grunt and a dismissive wave as I wrapped the food protectively and slipped it into my bag. Though I intended to say nothing more to her, my eye caught my mask and the nature of the city’s… pungent aroma filtered back into my mind. I dug around at the bottom of my bag for a moment and produced a pair of silver coins. Ceremonial, mostly, and of little value, but I didn’t well expect an Argonian to know the difference. “I don’t suppose you have any lavender lying about?” I placed the coins on the bartop as I spoke, drawing her eyes back to me. 

“Lavender?” She seemed confused but nonetheless ducked under the counter to dig around. Eventually, she pulled out a small stalk of the sweet-smelling purple flower, setting it down in front of me and taking the coins. “Is that all?” She was, I figured, indeed not happy to see me. Not keen on staying about any longer, I took the flower and nodded silently, stepping away from the bar and further into the empty room. 

From my bag I produced the mask I often wore alongside my helmet. Plucking a few of the buds from the lavender stalk, I tucked them into the small pouch I had sewn in just below the nose, intended to block out any unpleasant smells. Preferably, I would have used hyacinth, but at the moment I had little choice and I doubted a tavern in the dregs of Skyrim would carry something of the sort. 

Drawing up my hood, I stepped out into the rain, fastening the mask behind my head. As I’d hoped, the lavender killed most of the incoming smell, though not all of it. Opting to ignore it as I did much of this wretched place, I waylaid a guard--one who looked particularly irritated to be stopped in such a downpour. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, sera, but where might I find the ratway!” I shouted over the drum of the rain.

The guard gave me a dirty look from behind his helmet. “Only criminals and beggars go down there. What’s your business with them, elf?” His voice was equally raised, lessening the impact of whatever intimidation he’d planned as he was forced to pick volume over effect.

“I’m not entirely certain, I must confess! I was told to meet with a client but I’ve not found any indication of its location!” I shifted my bag and adjusted my hood as the rain began to soak through. I was incredibly eager to get out of this damn rain, but the guard was intent on holding me up. 

“Listen here, knife-ear! You get yourself into any trouble and you’ll end up in the Palace’s prisons, understand me?!” He spoke near my face, his voice admittedly a bit painful in its volume, but I let only my mouth twitch in discomfort as he yelled.

“Yes sir, I wouldn’t dream of getting into trouble! Please, this rain is rather cold, I simply want to reach my destination!” I decided a bit of truth wouldn’t hurt, at least a bit that could end this conversation as quickly as possible. 

The man gave me a side glance and pointed toward the canals. “Go down there, it’s near the gate to the canal on the far side!” After confirming my worst fears, he simply walked off at a brisk pace, taking shelter beneath a balcony. While I was deeply dreading the thought of becoming acquainted with the canals, I also was desperate to get out of the rain, and the latter won. I descended the stairs quickly, holding my hand to my face as the smell grew worse and worse. 

The water that lapped at the walkways was murky and brown, not at all the color that water should be. It seemed obvious that they’d been dumping their sewage in the water, and I could only help but feel bad for whatever fish had inhabited the shallows when it all began. 

Pushing the thought out of my mind, I continued down the way, passing numerous beggars and barred doors, only barely sheltered by a small overhang from the market square above. Although the intensity of the rain was cut slightly, half of my head was still being hammered by the downpour and it was clear I would only be finding respite in this “ratway”. 

The smells only grew stronger as I reached the grate which I assumed would lead to my destination. The door was large and heavy, bolted and reinforced on every possible level. The person who put this in was obviously not keen on unwanted visitors. And yet, oddly enough, it was unlocked, creaking loudly as I pushed inside and finally escaped the water outside--hopefully for good. 

Allowing the door to shut behind me, I continued deeper into what appeared to be a repurposed overflow chamber, carved out further ahead with fires burning in the dirt and among the growing fungus. The state of the door made sense now. 

I took a cautious step deeper into the chamber, placing first my heel and then the pad of my foot, careful not to make any noise that might alert whatever denizens might be lurking ahead. Though I kept my hand protectively on the dagger at my hip, I knew it would be a last resort weapon. I’d never been good in direct fights and having a weapon didn’t change that fact. Were I unable to get the drop on my target, I never stuck around to see how the fight would pan out. With that in mind, I kept my footfalls soft and my breathing quiet. 

I heard nothing from the hollow ahead of me, the alcoves to either side yielding only the squeaks of skeevers and rats. As I passed through the threshold of the antechamber, I was met with a smell that pierced through even the lavender and made my eyes water. The bodies of a pair of what were likely bandits laid over one-another, their corpses bloated and decaying. It was obvious by the tear of their flesh that they’d been rat food for a long time now. Whoever they were, nobody cared enough to move them. Maybe the guard had just been leading me by the nose, but I wasn’t about to turn back because of a couple of dead bodies. The Tong did far worse to repel potential intruders.

Careful not to touch the bodies--or the fluids surrounding them--I continued deeper into the Ratway, the damp stone drying quickly as I passed beneath the torches. Only somewhat further in, I was met with a rickety drawbridge, poorly maintained with damp, rotting boards. My chances with it were decidedly better than what they were below, however, as something unknown scuttled in inky darkness, the echoes making it impossible to tell just how far the drop was. I was careful with my steps along the creaking bridge, but my experience in moving softly ensured I would cross unmolested. 

As I crossed the void below me and pushed through a rusted gate, I was once again met with a rotting corpse, this time of a beggar woman, though the sight shocked me far less than the sight before. Unfazed, I continued to the steps that led downward, pausing at the arch to examine an odd mark that caught my eye. It was plainly visible, though what it meant was beyond me. A small circle within a triangle was carved messily into the stone, its edges smooth and worn, as if it had been touched by many. 

I crept down the stairs, once again cautious of my surroundings as I entered through the door below.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

All at once, the atmosphere changed and I found myself in a large cistern. The rim surrounding the stagnant pool was slick with water and bathed in darkness, but at the far end was the soft, inviting glow of torches, casting the shadows of those gathered. Idle conversation carried across the chamber, friendly and unfriendly voices accompanying the click of mugs. It seemed I’d come across some sort of speakeasy, much like worshippers of the false Tribunal held in my homeland. 

Against my better judgement, I relaxed and approached the large Nord that stood guard over the ramp that led to the sitting area. “Woah now, I wasn’t expecting anyone new. Wanna tell me why you’re here before I break your face?” The man sneered, though that wasn’t what made me recoil. As I pulled down my mask, his stench assaulted my senses, forcing me to breathe as quietly as possible through my mouth.

I produced the token I had been afforded by Glover on Solstheim, presenting it to the rancid Nord. “I must speak with the Mallory brother here urgently.” I spoke as professionally as possible, still uncertain of what I’d stumbled upon. While these people were obviously not savory types--in more ways than one--I avoided coming off as too suspicious for fear of putting my contact even more off guard than he was likely to be.

The man snatched the token up, looking it over with some disdain before tossing it over his shoulder with a great force toward a bald, block-faced man sitting hunched over a table covered in papers. “Delvin! Your brother sent you another whore!” He called over his shoulder, grabbing me by the arm despite my protests and shoving me deeper into the ‘tavern’. 

“I’m not--”I began to correct the words of the Nord before being cut off by the sudden presence of this Delvin man. It seemed, in the moments between my manhandling, he had come face-to-face with me in a matter of seconds. 

“Well, ‘ello sweet’eart. Don’t mind Dirge, he thinks he’s bein’ funny.” He gestured to a chair tucked beneath his table before taking his own seat once again, the soft light of the claw-based candle before him illuminating his rough features. Were I more appreciative of the male physique, I likely would’ve been infatuated with him. But then, I didn’t know much about what was considered attractive in men. “What can I do for ya?” He folded his arms on the table, staring rather uncomfortably into my eyes in some odd attempt to charm me. 

Pushing the odd look to the back of my head, I folded my arms on the table, one over the other, as I pulled down the hood of my cloak and ran a hand through my rain-soaked hair. “Glover sent me, I’ve heard you can… help me out with something.” I remained deliberately vague, hoping to let him lead the conversation where he wanted it to go. Were I to come out directly with my goal, I would risk my connections being exposed to my targets, especially here.

“Ah, you’re another one of Glover’s ‘recruits’, eh? Tell ya what,” he flipped through his papers and pulled out a folded sheet with a broken wax seal, setting it in front of me, “last few new guys he sent to me ain’t exactly lightin’ Maven’s knickers on fire. Job info’s in ‘ere, you get what we need and you’re in, yeah?” He reclined in his chair, taking up his mug full of an uncomfortably dark liquid and taking a sip.

“Understood.” I spoke under my breath and took the note, tucking it into my cloak and turning back for the entrance. As subtly as possible, I took in the other patrons of this odd little bar. A select few of them seemed to be wearing a sort of uniform--black leather covered in studs, buckles and pouches. While I was certain they were not the Brotherhood--as the telltale lack of their costumes implied--I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into.

I realized I’d been standing there for too long when I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I cast my eyes back and laid them once again upon Delvin, who’d moved from his chair as silently as before. “Sorry, forgot to tell ya. Might not want to go back through there, smells pretty bad. If ya know Glover, just go out through the back. C’mere.” He gestured to me and headed for the hallway on the far end of the cistern. 

Cautiously, I followed along, stepping around the tables and ducking through the archway of the alcove. I rounded the corner to my right and was met with Delvin holding open what looked to be a wardrobe with a false back that led further into… wherever I was now. “Head through the door to yer left, tell the red ‘aired tosser that Delvin sent ya to use the ladder. Off ya go, sweet’eart.” He patted me on the back and I stepped through the threshold of the cabinet, the heavy doors clicking shut behind me.

As I pushed open the well-oiled metal of the entrance I was directed to, I found myself in a chamber similar to the one that held the speakeasy. Once again, it seemed to be situated in a cistern, but it was maintained in a much better way. The floors were dry and the area was lit well with torches, accented by a pillar of soft, gray light  streaming through the grate above. 

“Hey! Who are you!” My eyes snapped to the man who’d called out in his strange voice. Another human, it seemed, but I couldn’t make out what kind. His unshaven face betrayed an Imperial’s blood, but he was short and his face was far harder than an Imperials. For all the life of me, he looked like someone had crossbred a Nord with an Imperial. However, as my eyes caught the barely-pointed tips of his ears, it hit me that I was looking at a Breton, a mongrel human.

“Delvin told me to use the ladder.” I nodded to what I could only assume was the exit that was being referred to, a rusted ladder that led up to some place I couldn’t see. The man stopped in his tracks, folding his arms over his chest and tilting his chin down to look me over. His gaze was cold and piercing from beneath his medium-brown hair. Unlike the others I’d met, he put me on edge, ready to run at a moment’s notice. 

Finally, the man spoke, “He sure knows how to pick ‘em. Let me guess, he gave you the Goldenglow job.” He pointed to the paper in my hand. “He wants you to cock it up so he has an excuse to kick you out on your tight little ass.” His remark shocked me into silence, unable to think of a retort after such a slimy remark. I knew two things from that moment on. I needed a bath, and I did not like this man one bit.

“Let me tell you something, girl,” he continued on like he hadn’t spoken as he had to me, “that place is fortified up the ass, you have more chance of dying than you do walking through these doors again.” Once again, before I could react, he snatched the paper from my hand and slipped into the largest pouch on his bandolier, which seemed to be similarly filled with papers. “I’ll start you off with something you can handle. Go snatch the medallion from the foreman down at the docks. Even you should be able to handle that.” 

As he stopped talking--presumably in anticipation of a response--I finally got a chance to get a word in. “I’m sorry, who are you?” The question was the first among the massive pile that came to mind, and it seemed to be the wrong choice. His face twisted into a sneer and he scoffed.

“Seriously? You can’t stop thinking about ash or whatever long enough to even listen to Delvin? I’m Mercer, fuckwit.” He shook his head and adjusted the collar of his uniform, taking a predatory step forward and squaring his shoulders in some attempt to intimidate me. It was working. “Now, are you going to go do what I told you or am I going to have to find another use for you?” His voice suddenly lowered, taking on a threatening air. 

“Fine, medallion from the dock foreman.” I grunted and went to step around him when he placed a large, calloused hand on my chest, stopping me in my tracks. For a manmer, he was surprisingly strong. 

“I wasn’t kidding, elf. You do this job or I’ll pass you around like a party favor.” His voice retained its threat as he spoke close to my sensitive ear. I had to repress the urge to cut and run. I took a breath, careful not to shudder, before pushing his hand away and heading for the ladder. All the way across the cistern I could feel his eyes on my back, prompting me to pick up my pace and practically leap up the ladder. 

As soon as I’d crawled from the manhole I allowed myself to shudder, though I repressed a gag I was certain would become vomit. I still wasn’t entirely clear on what I’d suddenly signed up for, but  judging by the job I was being sent on, this was the Thieves Guild I’d heard legends of. The same who fought the Cammona Tong for years, who stole an Elder Scroll from the White-Gold Tower, the same who were led by the legendary Gray Fox. They were well-connected, and were indeed likely my best chance of tracking my targets. I’d play along for the moment, but I wasn’t sure how long I could bear this ‘Mercer’. 

I reached for the pull chain that was illuminated by the solitary torch among the tight, damp passageway. As the mechanism clicked, the scraping of stone filled the corridor and overcast light began to peek through the crack above me, gradually growing until a hole large enough to exit was created. 

I stepped out into the sunlight and found myself inside an open-air mausoleum that led into a graveyard.  _ “Clever.”  _ I thought to myself as the false coffin slid back into place behind me. It seemed to have stopped raining in the time I’d been below the streets, but I couldn’t be sure exactly when it had stopped. A chill once again blew through the autumn branches of the Rift, piercing my still-damp clothing. Left with little recourse, I simply folded my arms over my chest and stepped out into the cold. 

For the first time since I’d arrived, I became aware of the pendant against my chest, the metal drastically lowering in temperature and making it even more uncomfortable for me. Swallowing down the lump that rose in my throat, I pressed on, trying my hardest to ignore the insistent cold of the scarab. Eventually, it died down and returned to a comfortable temperature.

I cut through an alley and found myself on the steps of what appeared to be a temple, the courtyard of which let out to the familiar sight of the marketplace. People had just begun to filter back into the city at large now that the rain had stilled, beginning the daily market grind. I, however, was on a mission. I continued through the marketplace, deliberately ignoring the vendors trying to get my attention.

“Genuine Falmerblood Elixr!”

“Buy armor from Grelka!”   
  
“Fine handcrafted jewelry!”

The voices blended together as I came out on the other side of the crowd, passing by the idle warmth of the blacksmith’s forge and pushing through the door on the far side, signposted as leading to the docks. Once again, the stench of the canals was replaced with the familiar smell of fresh, salty air. Granted, it was still a smell I disliked, but it was far better than the stagnant sewage lurking below Riften. 

I made my way down the docks carefully, taking in the workers milling about, lifting boxes, moving nets of fish and foraging for their tools. It occured to me that I wasn’t sure who exactly the foreman was, though judging by the sheer number of lizards, he was likely among them.  Still, the way they looked and the way they dressed made it nearly impossible for me to pick someone out. While I could ask around, that would almost certainly draw attention that I didn’t need, at least for this particular job. 

I shut my eyes for a brief moment and focused myself, bringing back to the forefront of my mind the training I’d been given. While I had no description, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to pick out a foreman. I continued forward into the docks proper, working my way around the laborers and giving them each a once-over. 

A large, heavyset Argonian dragged behind him two large nets full to bursting with fresh fish, some still moving. He barely exerted himself as he kept a steady pace for the fishery, his net trailing slime and water across the saturated planks. He was little more than a common man, dressed in a white tunic and brown trousers that matched the color of his scales. 

Across the pier he’d come from stood a woman, an Imperial by the looks of it. She was similarly dressed in a green tunic and skirt, taking notes on each of the small fishing vessels moored in the dock. A small swatch of purple at her belt caught my eye. An inspector for the city, she wore the heraldry of the hold.

I turned my eyes to others but was startled from my concentration by a voice at my shoulder, “Did Mercer send you, lass? You look like a fish out of water with that cloak.” He spoke in an odd accent I’d never heard before, and yet was oddly familiar. I spun on my heels to face the red haired man, the one I assumed Delvin had intended for me to meet. “I had you picked out as soon as you walked through that market. You’re no thief, what are you doing here?” 

I furtively glanced around, making certain no guards were nearby before I responded to him, “Yes, sera. Mercer sent me to do a job for him.” I once again scanned the docks, idly looking for my target. I wasn’t particularly worried about how ‘out of placed’ I looked. Most marks weren’t as apparently psychic as this red haired man was. 

“Sera? Don’t be so formal, call me Brynjolf. Let me guess, he sent you out here to grab the medallion from the foreman?” He chuckled lowly as I nodded, his demeanor acting as a polar opposite to Mercer’s. “The sneaky lizard isn’t your average mark, but I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that.” Brynjolf motioned to what was likely my target--a blue-scaled Argonian barely distinct from all the others. I likely never would’ve picked him out. 

Not that I would ever admit it, of course. “Of course he told me that. I was waiting for the right time to strike when you showed up.” I put on an irritated tone, folding my arms over my chest. It was partially sincere, as he’d done my job for me, but I wasn’t quite as upset as I projected. “I already know Delvin was trying to ensure my failure, Mercer stopped that.” I stated matter-of-factly only moments before realizing just how stupid I sounded while saying it.

Before I could backtrack and save face, Brynjolf cut in, jovial as ever, “Delvin isn’t setting you up to fail, lass. Mercer is.” He motioned subtly to the foreman in question, who hadn’t seemed to notice us yet. “I’m positive that he’s an assassin for the Brotherhood. If you try to steal that medallion, he’ll have you bleeding on the ground in a matter of seconds.” 

His statement piqued my interest, my gaze tracking back to him once again. “Dark Brotherhood, huh?” I whispered, scratching the back of my head in some attempt to look idle. “What would you suggest, then?” I half hoped that he would tell me to kill the man, but I knew that the Thieves Guild didn’t kill like we did. I’d have to deal with this at a different time. 

“You’ve probably already alerted him.” He waved to the Argonian, who seemed to instinctively wave back before realizing his mistake and ducking into the fishery. So much for coming back later. “See?” As I spoke up, he cut me off, “My guess is Delvin gave you the Goldenglow job. Do that one instead.” He pointed to a small island estate just off the shore of the docks. “The place is a honey farm. Maven Black Briar wants us to obtain the deed from the basement and burn the hives. Some of our best have failed it, but Delvin didn’t send you on the job because he wanted you to fail. If he sent you, he knew what he was doing. Remember, though. Only three of the hives, Maven won’t be happy if you burn more.”

I listened intently to him, nodding softly as he finished. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to do some damage to Maven Black Briar, and hopefully the Brotherhood by extension. “Alright. I’ll begin my preparations, then.” I spoke half to myself in a hushed voice, nodding more firmly this time. 

“Good, I’m glad you’re seeing reason. I’ll see you back at the Cistern once you’re done, yeah?” The man touched me on the shoulder--an odd tradition the Nords seemed to favor--and was gone before I could work out a response to him. 

I backtracked from the docks and returned to the market square, clocking a man near the blacksmith’s alcove that seemed to be rather out of place in his dark leather. Nevertheless, I wrote him off and continued for the entrance gates.

That was my first mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about any inconsistencies and the fluctuation in quality of this chapter, I wrote it over the course of a month and am having trouble keeping up with all the information I present here. If you catch anything feel free to leave a comment and I'd be happy to fix it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this story isn't dead I promise! This chapter isn't great but I really wanted to put something out so I hope you enjoy it for what it is!

I sat across the bank from the house I was meant to target, the rays of the dying sun peering through the autumn branches across the lake. It would still be a time before I could safely make my approach. The time to watch their patrols was long past, the time to mark their schedule had ended hours ago. Now I was left with my thoughts as I waited for the moons to show their faces, the divided corpse of a god to bless my path. 

I laughed at my own thoughts. To my own ears I sounded as if I were a member of the Brotherhood, blindly worshipping that which I failed to understand. 

From across the water I watched the docks, the last of the workers filing away to their bunks for the night only to start again under the eye of a monster. The Brotherhood was here, in Riften. Perhaps spread wider than I thought. I had removed the head of the snake but the body seemed to refuse its death. 

I turned my eyes back to the lake beneath my feet. My task lay before me, sprawling and daunting, yet wonderful. The Brotherhood, bastion of ignorance, traitor to Mephala and home to the undisciplined was to fall by my hand and mine alone. I had no idea how I would begin this journey but perhaps damaging the interests of this Black Briar would begin me on the path. 

My mind wandered back to my home, desolate though it was. The Morag Tong had taught of the Brotherhood in depth, their history and methods. Although we were both assassins, the Brotherhood were disgusting. Undisciplined monsters that attracted the bloodthirsty and the psychotic, those who would kill a child and their pet free of charge for some illicit thrill. The Tong were not like that. We carried out our writs but took none of the perverse pride of the kill. The deaths were a necessity. A means to an end, in service to something greater than us. 

The Brotherhood cared not for that which was greater. They were as maggots and worms writhing amongst the filth, uncomprehending of the grand scheme. My pride in my given task was undeniable. My confidence was not. 

I looked up to the manor once again as the colored sky gave way to a dusk the shade of my own skin. This was, I figured, as good a time as any. Unceremoniously I plunged into the river, holding my breath in my lungs and making the best time I could across the channel. 

The water of the lake was slightly murky but undeniably clean, much more so than the filth-crusted canals of the city. Live fish flitted in my peripheral vision as they retreated from my considerably larger form, scared of what predator I may be. The river's bed was covered in colorful shells of long dead mollusks, the shiny finish of countless lost treasures fallen from the boards of boats peeking out from below the silt. Though less rich than the waters surrounding the dead cities of Vvardenfell, I nevertheless made a note to come back and dig out what I could when this sordid mess had concluded. 

Finally I reached the shore, crawling silently onto the island's bank and pressing myself against the outcropping to catch my breath and listen for the footsteps of the guards as I timed myself in my head. One wrong move could spell disaster as it had for the other thieves, but none had quite the training of the Tong. This, I knew, I was confident in. 

As the footsteps of the fourth guard passed I counted out seven beats before gripping the edge of the outcropping and hoisting myself atop it onto the well-maintained lawn of the manor island proper. Without so much as a pause for breath I slipped into the nearby bush just in time for the next guard on the route to round the nearby watchtower and pass me, blissfully ignorant of the intrusion. 

The moment the man's back turns to me I stepped from my hiding place and broke into a sprint across the open field, my light footfalls masked by the rustling of the leaves and the sloshing of the lake in the soft fall wind. 

Once again I took my cover in the shadows near the dark corner of the manor’s exterior, my foot brushing the cover of the manhole I intended to explore. First, though, came the hives that sat just opposite of the home. 

From beyond my shadowy reprieve came a pair of voices carried on the wind, guards passing on the beaten path to their barracks. 

“I hear nobody's seen her since the attack in Karthwasten.”

“I hear she took off from Windhelm a few months ago. What do you care, the dragon is dead, the world isn't about to die because she decided to go on vacation.”

The voices faded behind the walls and I rounded the corner, pushing the conversation to the back of my mind as I once again crossed the fields as rapidly as possible. In short order I arrived at the apiaries. The buzzing of the foreign insects filled the immediate area and for a moment I felt a tinge of guilt for destroying them. Their deaths, however sad, would be for the greater good. 

I held my hand out as a flame danced in my bare palm. One by one I lit the apiaries until none remained that would not soon be engulfed in flames. Although this was a clear violation of the parameters, weakening this Black Briar in any possible way would make my job that much easier. The Brotherhood was weak and destroying their support was imperative to bringing them from hiding. 

Trying not to think of the potential repercussions of my failure in my very first job I retreated from the scene of my crime to the place I'd once hidden as the guards rushed to put out the fires that had taken quickly to the dry structures. 

As the remaining few trickled from the manor proper I pulled open the manhole cover and slid into the damp drainage tunnels, the smell of wet fur overwhelming my senses. 

Skeevers. Wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> why has god left us


End file.
